


Burning my soul

by Betty06



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:22:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29316282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Betty06/pseuds/Betty06
Summary: What if everyone had soul marks?They started Robert's Rebellion, and they will change the war of five kings for the better. True love for everyone! Kinda...
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Ashara Dayne/Ned Stark, Barbrey Dustin/Brandon Stark, Brandon Stark/Catelyn Tully Stark, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Elia Martell/Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Jojen Reed/Meera Reed/Bran Stark, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow/Ygritte, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Robb Stark/Margaery Tyrell, Shireen Baratheon/Lyanna Mormont/Rickon Stark
Comments: 5
Kudos: 43





	1. Harrenhal and Robert's Rebellion

Catelyn and Lysa had gotten their marks on the very same day. She had been only two and ten, running through the gardens, when she’d fallen to the ground in pain. The mark had burned into the skin of her shoulder, causing her to pass out, and awake again with a beautiful wolf etched onto her body. Even though it had hurt, she’d been ecstatic. 

Lysa, on the other hand, bore a small Mockingbird on her ankle, beautiful in greys and blacks, and sometimes it almost looked alive.   
When her betrothal to Brandon was announced, she’d been even happier, when she’d finally met him something had just clicked inside of her. Whenever he was near it all seemed brighter and better, as though she only truly lived in his presence. There had been a Tully trout on his lower back, and all had seemed perfect for her when he’d showed her. 

But Catelyn soon had to find that Brandon was one of the few that had more than one mark. Behind his ear was a small golden horse between two lances, and she knew at once that it was Barbrey Ryswell, the beautiful daughter of the Lord he’d been fostered with. Catelyn knew better than to speak to him about the other mark on his body, but many a night she lie awake, wondering if maybe, just maybe, she was a mere replacement of his other love. 

Catelyn had not been at the tourney of Harrenhal, but another woman had: Ashara Dayne, born with a small quiet wolf between her breasts, and though she found herself taken by Brandon, it was his brother Eddard to whom her heart and mark belonged. It was only when he saw Ashara, with her purple eyes laughing, that a burning pain took hold of Ned, and a falling star, the same haunting purple colour of her eyes, appeared on his skin.

At the rebellion’s start Catelyn’s soulmate died, at it’s end Ned’s. 

She had been the first to know of Brandon’s death, had fallen to her knees in the middle of a conversation with Lysa, and wept until she had no tears left. He had promised that he would come back to her and that they would be wed upon his return, but it was never meant to be. Where the burning of her mark as she received it had been a sweet, exciting pain, the death of her love seemed to tear her apart, aching with every step. She had wondered upon Barbrey Ryswell once more, if she could feel the pain as well, if she too was breaking. 

And then she’d been married off to Ned, who’d appeared so cold when she’d first met him. He was not her soulmate and he never would be, but she loved him still, and fiercely so. Where her love for Brandon had been passionate and quick, a flame burned out too quickly, Ned was stability, something to hold on to, and oh she loved him for it. 

Over time the wolf on her shoulder began to fade to grey and greyer still. Sansa would tell her how romantic it was that she had her husband’s mark, and Catelyn never had the heart to tell her the truth.

And all the pain had been brought upon by two roses on the hands of Rhaegar Targaryen, one blue as frost, one as bright as the sun, and his heed to have them both. Not many Lords got to be with even one soulmate, yet prince Rhaegar needed three heads of the dragon, and no price would be to high. 

Lyanna Stark had been wary of the dragon on her belly, the three-headed dragon, the magnificent beast, but happy still. When he found her in the woods outside of Harrenhal, hastily pulling off the last of her armour, ridding herself of the knight of the laughing tree, when the prince had stepped out, so handsome and gallant, and oh so forbidden. Her entire being had ached to be beside him, had felt a pull so strong that all caution was thrown to the wind. 

When she had gone with him to Dorne, she’d finally found the answer to herself, found her other half and understood. But her sweet dream turned to a nightmare, hearing what her recklessness had caused, her brother and father dead, Robert and Ned gone to war for her sake. Already she was with child, and nearly lost it when her mark had caught fire, burning through her, and she realized that it was all over now. Rhaegar was dead, and Lyanna was dying. 

When Ned found her she did not hold on to life anymore, but welcomed release from her pain, even if it meant she would loose her son.


	2. Stark boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Stark boys get their marks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will just be a retelling of the war of the five kings if the main characters had soul marks.

Jon was the first of them to gain his mark. He could see contempt in Lady Stark’s eyes when he came running in to show them the bloodied arrow on thigh, a pretty thing, snow stained red, feathers at it’s end. 

Ned had just smiled and sent him out to find Sansa. She’d been obsessed with soul marks ever since Jeyne Poole had gotten hers at the tender age of six. Jeyne’s had been very strange. It had been the arms of house Poole, but in gold and black. 

Sansa fawned over the arrow for weeks, when it came even better. Jon received a second mark, and when he showed it to his father this time, he paled and took Jon aside. It was a dragon, three-headed, one green, one cream, one black, wings outstretched over Jon’s upper back. Beautiful, but dangerous.

“You must not show it to anyone, do you understand me?” 

“I understand.” The boy had answered, touching the dragon on his back again, feeling it burn. “What does it mean to have two marks? Will I have to choose? Or will one die, perhaps?”

“Hopefully not. Though if I may say so, I wish you choose the arrow.”

Jon did not want to choose. He had never thought to have a mark, and now he had two. He was a bastard, meant for nothing, and the marks only made it easier for him to decide on joining the Watch. He was still young, barely ten, but already he knew what he wanted. The Night’s Watch didn’t care if you were a bastard, and there he would not have to choose between an arrow and a dragon. 

I_-_-_-_-_-_-_I

After Jon came Bran, and it almost cost him his life. He was out climbing, on the highest walls of Winterfell, feeling as though he could fly. Bran had climbed as soon as he could walk, and even at five years old he did, which was when the burning came. Others often said it was sudden and quick and maddening, but for Bran it was slow and painful. 

In the morning there had been a slight chest pain, but nothing too bad. By midday he was high above the ground and couldn’t get down, his head spinning, his body aching. He collapsed on the roof and wept, as a weirwood tree burned itself over his heart. 

When the sun began setting, guards were sent to look for him, and they dragged the boy, shaking violently, from the roof and brought him to Maester Luwin. 

They discovered that Bran, too, had two marks etched into his skin. On each of his legs sat a colourful lizard-lion. Ned would have sent a raven to Greywater Watch immediately, were it not for the ominous weirwood growing over his son’s heart, and for the violence of his marking, that left him bedridden for days. 

Yet again, Sansa left him no rest, asking to see the lizard-lions again, and telling him of how lucky he was, and that Howland Reed had a daughter named Meera, and that surely she was his soulmate. 

Bran did not listen to her. That night he dreamt of weirwood trees and a boy in green and a three-eyed crow.

I_-_-_-_-_-_-_I

Robb was twelve when he awoke to find one sleeve of his nightshirt missing. Specifically, the right sleeve. He would have assumed it was some sort of joke, a prank by Arya or perhaps Jon, were it not for the ring around his arm, the ring of rose vines, sharp thorns digging into his skin. 

Robb liked his mark. It wasn’t some flowery rose bloom, it was sharp thorns and brittle leaves, strong and dangerous. He was, however, a little dismayed to be the first of them to have only one mark burned into his skin. 

When he awoke and found the ring, he was surprisingly calm. Still in his nightclothes, Robb went on search for his sleeve. He had run into Theon then, who’d been fifteen by then, no mark and no need for it, who had laughed at him for what seemed like hours when he found him running around Winterfell half-naked at the break of dawn.

“Have you seen my sleeve?” He’d asked when Theon was done laughing.

“No, Robb. I have not, in fact, seen your sleeve. Maybe you should talk to the seamstress!”

Robb examined his arm closer. The edge of his clothing was burned off clean where the circle of rose vines had appeared.  
With a small, stupid smile, he went off to find his mother. 

I_-_-_-_-_-_-_I

It was close to a miracle that two-year old Rickon Stark received a mark in the safety of his family at all. An even greater miracle was that three of the six children had ended up with two marks. He was the last Stark to receive his mark, but also the youngest and surprisingly enough, easiest. 

The boy did not weep or scream or show any pain at all. In fact, it was unclear when Rickon had received his mark, just that one day when bathing in the hot springs of Winterfell, they found a bear on his foot and, Catelyn was close to sending a raven to house Mormont, when Robb found a second one burned onto his brother’s skin. 

It was a small wooden stag on his chest, so real looking it seemed as though you could pick it up from his skin and hold it in the palm of your hand. 

Again, the question came up: Is it a choice, or must one die?

“I won’t choose. I want both.” Rickon had told them with his weak voice, so small and delicate. He held to his decision for years to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, the Stark Ladies!


	3. Stark girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya receives her mark. Sansa's is a little more complicated.

Sansa had always adored the idea of having a soulmate, someone so perfect for you, that even the gods had marked it so. Your other half, your perfect match. She had made the servants show her their marks, studied them, and been fascinated. 

When Jeyne had gotten hers she had been happy for her, of course, but also jealous. How come Jeyne, the steward’s daughter, got her soul mark before Sansa? 

And then her half-brother had gotten it, a bastard, and then Robb and Bran, too. She had fawned over the beautiful pictures plastered onto their bodies, though she’d been very irritated that the majority of her family so far had more than one mark. Why would you need a second soulmate? Sansa would be happy with just one. 

Her mark hadn’t come though, she waited and waited, but it did not come. Only her father had been able to calm her, telling how he had received his own mark at the tourney of Harrenhal, at the age of eight and ten, long a man grown, and Sansa had accepted that her mark would take a while. 

She had been content with this, until the day that Arya received her mark. A steward’s daughter, a bastard son, dozens of stupid serving girls, but Arya? Her wild, almost savage, unladylike, disgrace of a younger sister, whom Sansa had always believed would remain markless till her death, who had always mocked Sansa for her obsession with songs and romance, and called soul marks stupid, had been marked before her. 

Arya had been sitting in the forge, watching Mikken beat the metal, again and again, hearing it sing. It had been hot in the forge, fire all around, her skin seeming to burn. It had taken long for her to realize that the burning sensation between her shoulder blades was not from the fire. The smith had seen it first, and Mikken, who had always been gruff and not one to show emotion, had gasped in awe at the beautiful metal bull’s helm on her skin, gleaming and shining. 

He had sent her inside quickly, and even Septa Mordane had approved of the mark, that had made Arya almost as giddy as the other girls. No one had warned her though of how incomplete she would feel now, how she would have to lie awake at night, aching for her other half, cursing the stupid mark on her shoulder.

And what they also had not warned her about was Sansa’s reaction. When her sister saw the mark etched into Arya’s back, shining dark metal on pale skin, she had been furious, had screeched and screamed, and in her anger began hitting Arya, right on the mark. Upon realizing what she had done, Sansa had recoiled, ashamed and afraid of her mother’s reaction. 

That night she had cried her eyes red and gone to apologize to Arya. 

“It’s not your fault that I haven’t gotten mine yet…” 

Arya had just shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll get one too. Who knows, maybe it’ll be a stupid golden lion on your forehead.”

It hadn’t been meant nicely, but Sansa had liked the idea nonetheless. When their father had told her that the king was coming, and with him the prince, Sansa had been ecstatic. 

It was only after Ned Stark’s head fell from his shoulders in a gush of blood, Ice stained and soiled, that Sansa began seeing her folly. A stupid little girl with stupid dreams, who still hoped for some gallant knight to come save her and leave a colourful mark etched into her skin.

Sansa never received a mark.


End file.
